Adventures in Poetry Writing

As you may know, I'm currently taking a poetry composition class at school. You also may know that I think it's absolute bullshit. I'm aware I tend to be a cynical bitch by nature, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that this class is possibly the worst piece of shit I've ever experienced.  

So far, here's what I've learned:

1. Creative Writing is a bullshit major. I didn't want to believe this either, but my incompetent instructor is living proof. I wasn't aware you could graduate with a BFA in poetry and not recognize a Keats reference, but apparently I stand corrected.

2. Reading poetry isn't about analyzing form and content and close reading texts, it's about talking about your feelings, you dumb-ass. Nothing is more objective than going around the room and saying "this poem made me sad" with no explanation why, obviously. My Advanced Literary Analysis class is right before this one, and needless to say, I die a little inside every time we contradict all that I've learned as an English major in simple class period.  

3. Writing a poem that's good is a rare phenomenon and when it actually does happen, there is no explanation for it. Okay, I know you can't teach someone how to write poetry, but after reading so much of it over my lifetime, I feel there are at least a few guidelines, tips, etc. that can help the process. But, no. That's makes too much sense apparently, therefore I am condemned to a hell every Monday for 3.5 hours which consists of regurgitating awful as shit poetry because, uh, I don't fucking know how to write poetry. It seems to be a conundrum without a solution. 

Needless to say, writing poetry seems to be bane of my existence as of late. So far I've written a ridiculous poem about getting wasted on the Salt River, something sappy about my dad, a bad ekphrastic poem about a watercolor painting, and a little something about the house on 7th St. It doesn't seem like things will get any better, either.  

Yesterday in class we received our assignment for next week. After "writing a secret" onto a piece of paper anonymously, we each ended up with someone else's. Here's the secret I have to write a poem about:

"I'm afraid that I am only dating my boyfriend because I like having a boyfriend, but I fear that in a few weeks I will stop liking him because that's how I roll--I'm an independent and I'm really only in it for the chase. The problem is, he is my boss. And I just got this job. I'm too awkwarded out to sleep with him, but again, he's my boss."

Oh shit! I don't know how the fuck to go about making this situation *~poetic~* but I'm pretty entertained nonetheless. We'll see where this juicy little secret takes me.